Cheers, Thanks A Lot

Tuesday night the Vomit Fairy visited my building.

I spied, as I staggered incoherent and coffee-less out the door of my apartment, a shot glass and a puddle of the previous night's recycled revelry. Nummy! Much the same thing, sans shot glass, greeted me when I got down to the front steps. Suddenly I'm living in a frat house.

When I had my morning's four giant mugs of coffee I had convinced myself that perhaps it was the leavings of a tenant's dog and the shot glass was a mere coincidence. Yes. That was it. I heard dogs in the hallway that night so it had to be dogs. Dogs do that kinda thing, except they usually eat it again so there's no mess to clean up.

I had pretty much forgotten about it by the time the coffee had worn off and I wobbled home, until I opened the front door and the entire building smelled like puke. Wonderful. If the first floor smelled that bad just imagine what vile reek would be hovering around the 3rd floor. The puddle was probably still there, now dried to a rock-hard crust like the beer and ice cream that gets spilled and left and stepped in pretty much every day in this place. No. The shot glass was gone and some helpful person had half-assedly swirled the mess around with some toilet paper which disintigrated into mush making it that much more appetising. It took the guy another couple hours to finally get the rest wiped up.

So before my brother makes the usual smart-ass remark that this is another reason he thought the last building I lived in was so much better I'll remind him that someone barfed in the elevator there twice, and in the stairwell at least once.